


say you will

by dothraloki



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Fake Mustaches, M/M, Making Out, Misogyny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 21:55:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15894897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dothraloki/pseuds/dothraloki
Summary: They jump apart, about as subtle as a boot in the face. Mac is wrecked, eyes dark, pressing a hand against his lips. “It’s uh,” he starts, voice cracking.Dennis nods, staring at his shoes. “Scheme, car dealership scheme.”-mac and dennis' friendship is solid.only problem is, they keep making out sometimes.--





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> contains misogyny in keeping with the show because dennis is a bastard man

_9.30 PM_

_On a Thursday_

_Philadelphia, PA_

The first time it happens, they’re on their way back from 7-Eleven. Dennis juggles bags of chips and booze, bottles clashing together as they walk together in lockstep.

“They’re badass!” Mac is saying through a mouthful of burrito. “I don’t care what you say, dude.”

Dennis wrinkles his nose. “Mermaids are not badass. They’re just not. The fact you think a woman with shells for a bra and a fish tail is badass is telling me everything I need to know right now.”

“Swimming in water and shit,” Mac continues. “Not having to come up for air all the time, what isn’t badass about that?”

“First of all, chew with your goddamn mouth shut, how about that?” says Dennis. “Second of all; are you hearing yourself? Your idea of badass is the ability to swim under water and not come up for air? You think dolphins are badass too?”

Mac turns, licking salsa from his fingers. “As a matter of fact -” he stops, attention caught somewhere over Dennis’ left shoulder. He jabs a finger. “Hey isn’t that the chick from the coffee place?”

Dennis swivels. The face is familiar to him but it takes more than a few moments to place her. _Rebecca_ , the waitress from the local coffee bistro. If he recalls correctly, she had been a very tricky one; an 8 at the very least, and unusually impervious to his usual methods. He’d had to deviate wildly from the DENNIS system, and it had a taken a lot of creative thinking to win her over, but he had, obviously, grateful for the challenge.

The ensuing aftermath, though - that hadn’t been pretty. Turns out, Separate Entirely had proved to be just as much of an issue as the previous steps. To cut a long story short, Dennis had made a lot of promises about a lot of shit he hadn’t, for a second, intended to keep; Rebecca had turned up at Paddy’s and raised _a lot_ of hell, and Dennis, to buy himself some peace and goddamn quiet, had made more promises to cover the ones he’d already made. There had been calls, emails, Snapchats; all ignored of course – Dennis had preferred not to dip in that particular lake again.

As she makes her way over to them, Mac sucks air in through his teeth. “Uh oh, dude.”

He ends up shoving Mac’s hand into his without even thinking about, hissing a quick, “just go with me here,” at his bewildered expression. It’s not his smartest or his best plan, sure, but he doesn’t have the energy or the willpower to go through this shit again; and Mac’s always staring at him like he’s second away from jumping Dennis’ bones anyway, so what the hell, right?

When Rebecca raises her eyebrows and says, “Your roommate? Are you seriously expecting me to believe that you’re – what - gay now?” He bristles, irritation creeping down his spine at her palpable doubt.

“Do you think I would lie to you about something like this?”

“Yeah, Dennis,” she says. “Yeah, I think you would.”

His mind is made up in seconds. “How’s this for lying?” he snarls, and leans in.

It’s almost worth it, purely for the look of dawning realisation on Mac’s face the moment before their lips meet. At first it’s like kissing a slab of goddamn concrete – Mac, obviously, freezes, dumbstruck, and Dennis has to coax him gently with a hand on his arm, thumb circling the base of his spine, teeth nipping softly at his bottom lip.

Then Mac finally _gets with the goddamn programme_ and pulls him in by the waist. His fingers slide up, cupping him by the jaw. Dennis licks into his mouth, grabs his ass through cord trousers, grins at the groan that works it way out of Mac’s mouth.

When they pull apart, Mac’s cheeks are flushed pink and he’s staring at Dennis in a way that borders on reverence. He kind of doesn't blame the guy. It was a good goddamn kiss. He’s still thinking about it when Rebecca scowls and turns on her heel with a flat, “Whatever, Dennis. I don’t care anymore.”

He wrenches his hand away the moment she's out of earshot, and laughs. “Did you see that? Bro, if I knew that all it took for chicks to leave me alone was to make out with you, I would’ve been doing it lonnng ago, man.”

“Yeah, totally,” Mac says weakly, and if his grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes, Dennis barely notices. “Was that like, weird?”

Dennis shrugs. “I don’t know, dude. Not like it meant anything.”

*

 

Mac is weird for the rest of the night, all withdrawn and thoughtful and shit. When he turns in at eleven-thirty after one and half beers, Dennis raises his eyebrows, watching him retreat to his room.

“Huh,” he says, circling a finger around the rim of his beer.


	2. two

_8.37 PM_

_On a Saturday_

_Philadelphia, PA_

 

The second time it happens - okay, well, it’s to prove a point.

“ _That doesn’t make any sense,_ ” Mac is gesticulating wildly, spilling red wine across the floor. “Why would that prove I’m straight?”

The bar has been steadily emptying all night. The regulars who do remain are content to sit at their booths, ignored by the rest of the Gang in favour of the unfolding conversation. It’s a conversation they’ve had many times in the past, and it almost always leads to the same frustrating, inevitable conclusion: denial. Dennis had been getting pretty sick of the whole repression thing, lately. It was irritating at the best of times but Mac’s claimed heterosexuality had over the years become a paper thin caricature that nobody who had eyes and a goddamn working brain believed in the slightest.

Dee rolls her eyes. “If you can make out with a guy, that proves that you’re secure in your heterosexuality.”

Mac squints. “But wouldn’t that be gay?”

Charlie sighs as he reaches around the bar, uncaps another beer. “I feel like we’re going around in circles on this, man.”

“Making out with a guy is the least gay thing you can do,” says Frank, knowingly. “Everybody knows this.”

“If you’re as straight as you claim to be, Mac, it wouldn’t matter,” says Dennis, chin in his hands.

Mac jerks his finger in his face. “Don’t pretend that you would do it either, dude.”

“Not only would I do it,” says Dennis. “I would be less of a pussy about it than you’re being right now, bro. You know why? Cos _I’m_ not gay.”

Mac clenches his jaw, gaze hardening. For a moment Dennis thinks he’s going to take a swing at him. “What are you trying to imply?”

“Oh, I really don’t think there was any implication there.”

“Well, here’s a simple solution,” Dee ventures, carefully. She has that odd tone in her voice that Dennis hates – the one that says _I’m being manipulative_ _I think I’m being very clever about it. “_ You guys could just make out with each other. That way, you both prove that you’re not gay.”

Mac grasps around, momentarily thrown. The flush is back, high on his cheekbones. “I’m not gay,” he says, uncertainly.

“Yeah?” Dennis goads. His grin is cocky, and he's quite content to bask on his high horse, knowing that Mac wouldn't dare. “Prove it, pal.”

Mac stills, eyes wide, hesitation palpable in his stance. Dennis sees it a second too late, the moment that something snaps in his posture and he's charging towards him, determined, cupping him by the jaw. It's clumsy at first, too hard, off centre. Dennis steadies him with a hand on his chest and deepens the kiss, tongue sweeping across his bottom lip.

“Holy shit,” Dee says, distantly.

Dennis ignores her, opting instead to pull Mac in closer, grip him tighter. Mac lets out a shuddering breath against him, fingers sliding up into his hair, perhaps unaware of the way his hips are moving, rocking slowly into Dennis’ thigh.

 _Not here,_ the sensible, aware part of him says, _Jesus Christ, not here._

He pulls away with a deep breath, taking in the way Mac’s eyes open lazily, lips red and spit-slicked and thinks _I fucking knew it._

“See?” he says. “Not gay.”

“Not gay either,” Mac says, voice ever so slightly hoarse. It shouldn’t send warmth trickling down Dennis’ spine but it does. Mac pumps a fist in the air, vindicated. “I told you bitches.”

“I don’t know, man,” Charlie snorts. “Looked pretty gay to me.”

*

To his credit, Mac had eventually calmed down after all the yelling and the threats to burn down Charlie’s apartment. The rest of the evening had passed with little incident and at eleven, they walk back to the apartment in the biting cold Novemeber wind, hands jammed into their pockets. They don’t talk about it because _there is nothing to talk about._

When Mac appears at his bedroom doorway, hair ruffled, in his sleep shirt and boxers, asking for Ambien, Dennis gives it freely, and he’s entirely neutral about the entire interaction. It’s something they’ve done a thousand times before. Nothing has changed.

And if he goes to bed with a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, then that’s his business.


	3. three

_11.15 AM_

_On a Tuesday_

_Philadelphia, PA_

 Admittedly the family car dealership scheme _is_ Dennis’ idea.

In his defense, Vic Vinegar and Hugh Honey had been successful; and if the rest of the Gang hadn’t pissed all over their scheme, it would’ve worked too. When he brings up his idea to revive their alter egos, what Dennis isn’t accounting for is Mac’s heightened sensitivity now that he’s convinced himself being overemotional is part and parcel of being an out gay man; but yeah, sure _the_ _y_ were the ones using outdated, antiquated stereotypes.

Mac glares over his morning coffee. “I see what this is. This is about my sexuality.”

“ _J_ _esus Christ._ It has nothing to do with your sexuality, you son of a bitch,” says Dennis, already aggravated. “This is about _making money._ ”

“So you’re exploiting my sexuality for profit,” he observes.

Dennis’ sigh racks his whole body. “You are becoming so irritating to me.” He reaches for his phone. “Forget it. I’ll ask Charlie.”

“Vic Vinegar is my creation,” Mac frowns, indignant. “Charlie just won’t be able to do him justice.”

“Well, what do you want from me, Mac?! You _just_ said -”

Mac stills him with a hand. “I’ll do it.”

*

It turns out a substantial part of their scheme involves making out.

Okay, yeah. Dennis had suggested it first, to sell the idea that they were together. He’d argued that no one would buy the whole ‘family’ angle if they were non-PDA and Mac had agreed, not quite meeting his eye in the mirror as he toweled his hair dry.

It had started with hand on the small of Dennis’ back, a chaste kiss on the cheek, a peck on the lips. Then things had escalated.

How he finds himself pressed up against a brick wall with Mac’s mouth on his neck and Mac’s knee in between his legs, grinding against it for all he’s worth, is something he can’t quite explain. Dennis doesn’t hear the approaching footfall, so Charlie’s voice comes as a scratchy bucket of water poured down his back when he says,“What am I looking at here?”

They jump apart, about as subtle as a boot in the face. Mac is wrecked, eyes dark, pressing his hand against his lips. “It’s uh,” he starts, voice cracking.

Dennis nods, staring at his shoes. “Scheme, car dealership scheme.”

“Cool,” says Charlie neutrally. “You guys wanna stop, uh, making out for a second and come tell us about the plan?”

“Yeah, sure, yeah.” Dennis manages. Why does his voice sound so goddamn strangled? “Just give me a second to uh, to switch gears.”

*

“So you guys are just making out now,” says Dee on the ride back to Paddy’s.

He tightens his grip on the wheel. “So help me God, Dee, I will throw you out of this moving car.”

“You should take a long look at yourself Dennis."


	4. four

_12:01 AM_

_On a Saturday_

_Philadelphia, PA_

Of course Dee, that bitch, is the one who brings up the idea. 

They’re drunk, blasted on rum punch and boredom and the casual comfort of one another’s company on a slow Saturday night. Without Charlie (who’d cited the urgent worm business he needed to care of, nobody had a single goddamn idea he’d meant by that, and nobody had cared to find out) and with Artemis who’d come over to get ‘rat-faced with Frank,’ their day had been a weird one - idling, busied neither with the bar or with the latest scheme; perfect for a night of drinking heavily and stupid conversation about stupid shit.

 Still, Dennis should’ve known by the cruel, angular grin on her face when Dee says, “I got an idea: let’s play seven minutes in heaven.”

 The replies come all at once, a mocking symphony of: “What am I, twelve years old?”  “A child.” “I didn’t realise this was the seventh grade, Dee.” 

Dee allows them to revel in their laughter for a couple of minutes, surveying them like jesters in her own personal court. Then she levels her gaze right at Dennis who knows instinctively to brace himself for the kicker. “Unless you guys are too scared.” 

Mac, predictably, rises to the bait. “Whoa, scared?” he slashes through the air. “I’m not scared of anything, dude.”

“I don’t like the accusation of cowardice,” Frank concurs. “It’s inaccurate.” 

“I mean, I’m just saying, seems like you guys are scared.” Dee affects nonchalance as she pours herself another glass. “We can play something else, y’know, if it’s too intimidating for you.” 

Dennis meets her gaze with his own, steadily, calmly. She knows exactly what she’s doing. He calls her bluff. 

“Fine, Dee. We’ll play. We’ve got nothing to be scared of, right guys?” 

“Sounds _fun as shit_ ,” says Artemis, capping off another beer. She points a ring-laden finger between him and Mac. “That mean I get to finally make you two make out?” 

Frank and Dee speak at once, over one another. “It’s happened several times.” “It’s not an unusual occurrence at this point.” 

Dennis glances over at Mac who resolutely refuses to meet his eye. The tips of his ears are burning bright pink. “Okay, that’s an exaggeration.” 

Dee squints in question. Her upper lip curls. “Well look, if you guys have nothing to be scared of, then you and Mac wouldn’t mind going first, right?”

 “ _Dude -_ ” Mac starts. 

The thin smile spreads. She’s playing them like a goddamn fiddle. 

Dennis’ eyes narrow; a sliver of the trademark, patented cold Reynolds belligerence cuts right through him. His tone is stiff. “ _Not at all_ , Dee.” 

* 

Fifteen minutes later, Dennis finds himself stood in Paddy’s back office, heart hammering in his chest, trying to ignore Mac’s pinched and anxious face. 

They stand, fists jammed into their pockets, stealing glances at each other when they think the other is looking away. There’s a cavernous space stretched between them, yet, it’s claustrophobic, so claustrophobic that Dennis can feel himself start to sweat.    

Mac radiates nervous energy, ringing his hands compulsively. The rustle of his trousers every time he shifts his weight, the squeaking of his boots against the ground, magnified in the aching silence. 

Dennis breaks it first, tentatively, irritatedly. “It’s not like we’ve never done this before.” 

“Not like this,” Mac bursts out, raking a hand through his hair. “There’s no – like – cover, or angle.” 

Dennis squints. “What do you mean?” 

Mac’s voice rises in panic. “If we’re not doing this to shove it in somebody’s face, then we’re just two guys making out in an office, Dennis.” 

“Lower your goddamn voice,” Dennis snaps. “Obviously, we’re trying to shove it in Dee’s face. Can’t you see she’s trying to mess with us?” 

Mac shifts his weight again, looking desperately around the room. “I don’t know, dude.” 

“What is your problem?” he says, pauses, and then. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.” 

A strange expression flits over Mac’s face, it’s not anger or determination as he’d expected; it’s something else, something foreign. He’s looking down, dark eyelashes fanning cheekbones and for a second the word ‘pretty’ pops up in Dennis’ head before he shakes it. 

“Mac, just -” 

Mac takes two strides towards him, covering the gap between them, then he’s leaning forward and kissing him. 

This time it’s different. Softer. Dennis can’t shake the feeling that he’s trying to tell him something, in the way his fingers tangle in the curls at the nape of Dennis’ neck, in the way his stubble barely bristles Dennis’ face - it’s gentle, like he’s giving Dennis space. 

Dennis doesn’t want space, and he doesn’t want gentle. He pulls him in by his shitty sleeveless w _hat are you looking at dicknose? t-_ shirt, and presses himself into Mac’s body.

 “Come on,” he says, frustrated, in the space between their mouths.

Mac gets the picture. Presses him hard into the door. He shifts one knee up in between them, slipping his tongue past Dennis’ lips, and Dennis is gripping him so tightly, his nails leave little half moon indentations at his hips. Mac’s teeth graze his bottom lip and Dennis rocks against his knee, desperately seeking friction. 

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, as Mac unbuttons the top of his shirt and mouths at his jaw. A shudder works his way up Mac’s body and Dennis’ mouth quirks up. 

His head rolls back against the door, taking pleasure in those lips, teeth, the pleasant burn of stubble against his jaw, the alcohol that buzzes its way through his veins, the incessant roll of Mac’s hips; and this is getting past him, it’s spiralling steadying out of control. 

He manoeuvrers a hand between their bodies, rubbing against the tent in Mac’s trousers purely to hear the way he groans, unbidden. The hot press electricity jolts through him, warmth pooling at his groin – it’s good, it’s so goddamn good that like the sun Dennis can’t look directly at it, feels himself burning away. 

“Dennis,” there’s that gasp in his the shell of his ear, again and again. Dennis won’t let up, addicted to hearing his name stretched out and breathed like it’s the most important name Mac’s ever said, ever even heard - 

A sudden thud startles them. And then - 

“ _Time’s up,”_ the shrill voice calls through the side of the door. 

 They break apart, slowly, reluctantly.

Mac won't meet his eye.

“Just uh – give us a minute,” says Dennis eventually. Then, casually, too casual to be an afterthought, he glances over, “You okay?” 

“Shit,” Mac says, he’s smiling but there’s no warmth in it and it’s terrifying. He can’t hide it, he never fucking could. “Yeah – of course, yeah. Like you said, dude, it doesn’t mean anything.” 

* 

They barely acknowledge each other for the rest of the night. They walk back to their apartment in silence. They retire to their separate rooms without a word.

Dennis’ blood is still burning as he lies in his bed, stares up at the ceiling. 

Feels like maybe it meant something.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited slightly to remove the charlie/dee undercurrent in light of the revelation in time's up for the gang.


	5. five

_10.07 AM_

_On a Saturday_

_Philadelphia, PA_

 

“Dee. Dee. Sweet Dee. Sweet Dee,” Dennis wraps against the apartment door. 

The thud of approaching footsteps, the chain sliding back and then - “What. Dennis.” 

Dennis takes one look at her and says. “You look like shit.” 

Dee throws up her hands, but steps aside anyway, letting him through as she heads to the kitchen. “Did you come all this way to insult me in person? Couldn’t just text me ‘you look like a bird’ like a normal person?” 

He shuts the door. “Now that you mention it -” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dee yawns and makes a winding up gesture with her fingers. “Skip the foreplay. What the shit do you want?” 

He opens and closes his mouth a few times. Then eventually, “I just wanted to hang out.” 

“You never ‘just want to hang out’ Dennis. In the nearly forty years that I’ve known you, you’ve never ‘just wanted to hang out,’” she yawns again, slams two mugs down on her kitchen counter. “So why do us both a favour and cut the bullshit. This about last night?” 

Dennis tries to look confused. “What – I don’t know what you mean.” 

Into the mugs, she heaps in two spoonfuls of that cheap instant coffee she gets from the Wawa, the one that tastes like shit. She pours in the boiling water and then she stares at him, flatly.

“Why are you - stop looking at me like that.” 

“You’re a real moron, you know that?” 

Dennis says nothing, takes a sip of Dee’s shitty coffee, winces. “Dee, this is disgusting.”

“Well, feel free to make your own coffee at your own goddamn apartment,” she snaps. 

Dennis makes no motion to leave. They sip the coffee together in silence. 

Then, softer, “You know he’s too chicken-shit to do anything about it, Dennis,” she says. “It’s been, like, twenty years.” 

“Twenty years for me too, Dee,” he says, then he turns away to admire the tacky art on her walls, anything to avoid that bright blue pensive stare – the one she does when she’s trying to read him. 

“This is really dicking with you, isn’t it?” she says, finally. 

Dennis is silent. She throws up her hands again. “Fine. I really don’t give a shit. You can stay here, as long as you’re out of my hair by twelve.”

 “What’s twelve?” 

“None of your goddamn business is what twelve is.” 

* 

 

Here’s the thing: Dennis isn’t stupid. 

He knows Mac - knows the way he thinks, certainly knew that he was gay long before Mac himself suspected. He also knows about the feelings Mac’s harbored for him since college. Had he ever used it to his advantage? Yeah. He’d be a fool not to. Had he even been flattered by it? Sure. Of course. 

But this, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. 

Mac’s attraction to him was as constant as the sunrise. It was a weapon that he wielded, sensibly, thoughtfully, constantly – because that was how they functioned as a duo. He knew that, Mac knew that, shit – _the gang_ knew that. It worked – _they_ worked – precisely because the ball is almost always in his court. 

Or rather, that’s how it used to be, because lately, he just can’t seem to get purchase on this thing at all, man - it’s as if all of that control is slipping out from beneath him and there’s nothing he can do about it. He never _used_ to think about Mac’s stupid sleeveless t-shirts, and his soft mouth, and his bedhead; hell outside of what was necessary to carefully manipulate their friendship, he barely used to think about Mac at all. 

And maybe that’s not strictly true, but _God_. He’s so goddamn sick and tired. Sick of sitting in tension all the time, sick of the way Mac looks at him as if he’s fireworks on the fourth of July, sick of walking on eggshells around one another, painfully aware that Mac being out means another layer of plausible deniability has been stripped from them.

And he wasn’t the one that was supposed to be frustrated, _goddamn it._

*

Mac’s watching TV on the couch when he finally gets in. He doesn’t look up at the sound of the door opening or Dennis’ keys hitting the kitchen counter or his approaching footsteps until Dennis is stood in front of him, blocking the game.  
  
“You’re a good kisser,” he says, abruptly.  
  
Mac does look up now, expression split between confused and flabbergasted. Dennis takes in the deep brown eyes sloping slightly downwards, the soft dark hair, not yet styled, the muscle edging out beneath cropped sleeves and something inside him lurches.  
  
“I was just talking to Dee,” he continues, because now he’s started. “She talks a lot of shit but she helped me to realise some things.”  
  
“Like what?” says Mac, enraptured.  
  
“I like kissing you.”  
  
Mac stands now, raking his fingers through his hair as he processes it. “Anything else?”  
  
“I hate how weird shit has become,” says Dennis. “It feels good to make out with you. I want to do it more. Like, right now.”  
  
Mac stares at him. Something – that thing from last night slides right over his eyes: hunger, Dennis parses.  
  
A beat passes.  
  
Then with a gesture of his hand. “Balls in your court, man.”  
  
When Mac kisses him, it’s like nothing he’s experienced before. Dennis’ shoulders slam into the wall as Mac backs him against it, picture frames shaking with the force. It dawns on him that all this time, Mac’s being holding back. He groans at the thought.  
  
“Unbelievable,” Mac breathes as he kisses him, his jaw, his ear, his neck. “You are unbelievable Dennis.”  
  
“Shit, man.”  
  
A grip strong enough to leave marks grounds him in place. Dennis fingernails dig into his back.  
  
“Always kissing me and shit. I’ve had blue balls since yesterday, dude.”  
  
“You really gonna talk about your blue balls right now?” Dennis gasps, as Mac leaves bruising kisses on his collarbone. “Take me into your room.”  
  
Mac palms him through his trousers. “Bossy.”  
  
Dennis pulls at the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re – you’re  not fucking me in the living room with the windows wide open, Mac.”  
  
“Nah, you’re right,” he drops to his knees. “I am going to blow you though.”  
  
“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re -” the rest of the sentence is lost, because Mac is pulling him out of his trousers, his underwear, stroking him in a way that has Dennis grasping onto the door handle.  
  
Then there’s that mouth, sliding over him, hot and wet. His head falls back with a thud. “You’ve definitely done this before.”  
  
Mac lifts off him to reply. “Yeah, Dennis. All the time.”  
  
A twinge of jealousy runs through him that immediately dissipates the moment Mac starts stroking him in tandem because that’s when Dennis stops thinking altogether.  
  
“Take me to your goddamn room, Mac. Now,” he manages eventually, his grip on the door handle is the only thing keeping him from buckling entirely.  
  
Mac slides off and Dennis pulls him to his feet, kisses him as they stumble into Mac’s room.  
  
“No idea how long I wanted to do that,” Mac is saying between breathless kisses. He shoves Dennis down onto the mattress, and starts rifling through his beside cabinet.  
  
“I think I have some idea.”  
  
“Take your clothes off.”  
  
There’s something about hearing Mac issue commands that sends warmth shuddering down his spine. “Now who’s the bossy one?” he says, but complies anyway.  
  
Mac’s staring at him, not pausing to break eye contact as he peels off his shirt, his belt, his trousers. He strokes himself, once, twice as he climbs onto the bed, lifts Dennis’ leg over his shoulder. Slides on a condom. “We’re really doing to do this, huh?”  
  
“Looks like it,” Dennis breathes, as Mac slicks up his fingers. “I’ve, uh, cleaned by the way.”  
  
Mac looks up at him with that dopey half smile, slides one finger deep inside him. “Awesome,” he says. “I was like, I wonder if he did, but I didn’t want to make things awkward.”  
  
“You didn’t want to make things awkward?” Dennis repeats disbelievingly. Mac twists his fingers, wringing out Dennis’ full-bodied groan. “Why am I the bottom?”  
  
“Because you are,” he says, adding another finger. “You just, like, exude that energy dude.”  
  
“What the hell does that mean, you son of a bitch -,” he breaks off as Mac twists again. “Jesus fuck.”  
  
Mac just laughs, it’s one that Dennis has never heard before; giddy and so full of joy it makes his heart hurt.  
  
Mac’s mouthing at his jaw, pushing his fingers deep and Dennis begins to sweat. He’s so goddamn turned on he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “Now, do it now.”  
  
Mac grins against his mouth, lining himself up. “Patience is a virtue.”  
  
“This is no time for coy!”  
  
“Calm down, dude,” Mac rolls his eyes, strokes himself one last time and slides in with a groan. It’s slow at first to give them both time to adjust. Mac rests his head against Dennis’, eyes screwed shut as he steadily bottoms out. Dennis breathes out around him, a shuddering sigh.  
  
“You ever done this before?” Mac pants. Then adds, “Don’t want to hurt you or anything.”  
  
“Yeah,” says Dennis. “You can move more.”  
  
“Sweet.” His eyes slide shut once more as he rocks his hips forward, teeth gnawing at his lip. Slides in, withdraws almost all the way, slides in again deeper. “Good?”  
  
Dennis’ mouth slackens. His voice sounds punch drunk when he says, “Yeah, s’good.”  
  
Mac leans forward, capturing Dennis’ mouth as his rhythm begins to build. It’s so much better than he ever fucking thought would be possible (he’s heard Mac’s bedroom encounters through the wall. They left a lot to be desired, but then again, he supposes, those were with women) but when Mac shifts ever so slightly, hitting that spot inside him, Dennis begins to unravel.  
  
He’s loud, he knows he’s being loud but Mac is fucking him in earnest, a steady rhythm that burns him from the inside out. The bed squeaks ominously, headboard tapping against the wall.  
  
“Holy fucking shit,” he gasps, fingers twisting in the bedsheets. Mac’s eyes open, wide and dark and determined as he grips Dennis’ hip with one hand, thrusting impossibly deeper. His expression both smug and awed. “Jesus Christ, Mac.”  
  
Mac’s cheeks are red, and his face is flushed and his hair is a mess but he looks so goddamn good. “Yeah, like that,” he’s whispering against Dennis’ mouth.  
  
“Please, Mac, please. Fuck.” His whole body feels like a live wire, tensed out and ready to snap, electricity sparking all the way down to his toes. “Touch me, you asshole.”  
  
Mac does, strokes him firmly, steadily, rhythm beginning to falter. Dennis’ mouth drops open. “If you fucking stop -”  
  
Mac is moaning into the shell of his ear, he’s never, ever been able to hide how goddamn earnest he is about everything. “Not gonna.”  
  
He’s overwhelmed by it - the feeling of Mac above him, surrounding him, inside him; his body twists, tenses, ringing out groans that fall freely from his mouth. It feels like he’s literally flying apart. The bottom of his stomach drops out and he’s whispering hoarse cries into the bedsheet, coming so hard that his vision whites out, and the only thing he’s aware of for the next few moments is the sound of his own thudding heartbeat.  
  
“Dude.” When he opens his eyes, Mac is looking at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Holy shit, Dennis.”  
  
He’s thrusts mindlessly, mouth agape.  
  
“That’s it,” Dennis says, over and over again, pulls him in closer, kisses him. Mac comes with a groan that works its way through his whole damn body, shuddering deep.  
  
They breathe for a couple of minutes like that. Dennis’ heart is still hammering against his breastbone and Mac’s panting as he pulls out, ties the condom, throws it on the floor.  
  
Traffic rushes outside their window. The sound of people chatting on the balcony below filters through.  
  
“That was awesome, dude,” Mac says, eventually.  
  
Dennis rolls his eyes, head thudding against the headboard. “Don’t ruin the goddamn moment.”  
  
“But you have to agree, that was awesome.”  
  
“It was,” Dennis concedes, “fucking awesome.”

*

“Dennis,” Mac says a little while later. “You know how you keep saying ‘this doesn’t change anything'?”

“It doesn’t,” Dennis shrug. “Just means we get to bang each other more.”

*

 


	6. six

_11.01 AM_

_On a Monday_

_Philadephia, PA_

“Yo.”

“Hey – o.”

“What’s going on guys,” Charlie’s sat on a barstool, drinking beer and wearing a fake mustache.

“Doing a mustache scheme?” asks Mac, flipping over the sign.

“Yeah, Dee’ll fill you in,” he says. “She and Frank are just getting the presentation ready.”

Dennis heads around the bar, uncaps a beer. “Cool. I’m excited to hear all about it. It’s been a while since we’ve done anything fake facial-hair related.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty sweet.” Charlie takes a pull on his own beer. “So, you two are banging now.”

Dennis chokes on his beer.

“That’s awesome,” says Charlie. “I am going to have to ask you keep the banging at Paddy’s to a minimum, though. I feel like we’ve reached our capacity for cats right now.”

Mac glances over at Dennis. Then, “What?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” says Charlie. “I love cats. A tabby, cute little calico, but we’re full of cats. I got cats coming out of my eyeballs, man, like the basement is covered in them. I’m running out of sources for rats.”

Dennis stares at him. “What the hell are you talking about Charlie?”

“Oh, right,” he says. “Well, because banging sounds attract cats, that’s why there are so many of them outside the apartment, now that Artemis is over.”

A beat. Then Mac and Dennis speak at the same time. “That clarifies nothing.” “What in God’s name are you talking about?”

The back office door opens and Dee pokes her head round. She’s also wearing a fake blond mustache.

“Mac and Dennis here yet?”

“Yeah,” says Charlie. “You were right, they’re banging.”

“They’re banging?” Frank. “About damn time. I was getting blue balls over here."

“That’s so disgusting, Frank. What is the goddamn matter with you?” Dennis shouts.

He ignores him. “Charlie tell you about the cats?”

“It raised more questions than it answered to be honest with you,” Mac takes another pull of his beer, and pulls up a chair, ready for the presentation.

*

“So much for keeping this secret,” says Dennis in the stakeout car, a little while later.

Mac shrugs and itches his fake mustache. “I don’t know, dude. I think I’m kind of done with secrets for now.”

***


End file.
